Chapter 2: The Price of Secrets
827 Words
Mandla burst through the penthouse door, his energy electric.
"Zee! You should've seen them. I swear, those old guys from the board looked at me like I finally arrived!" He dropped his keys in the bowl by the entrance, already loosening his tie. "One of them even said I had a ‘presidential presence.’ Can you believe that? Me, Mandla Moyo."
Zanele stood in the kitchen, placing her wine glass softly on the counter. She turned and smiled—just enough.
"I can believe it. That’s what I trained you for."
Mandla chuckled, walking over and pulling her into a one-armed hug. "They see me now. Really see me. And it's all because of you. The way you coached me... your notes, your timing tips—it was perfect. You were perfect."
Zanele leaned into him briefly, then pulled away, glancing at her phone. "I’m happy for you, babe. Really."
He flopped onto the couch, still riding the high. "I bet Kay was shocked too. She kept trying to hand me notes, but I already had it all locked down. Honestly, Zee, I think this is it. My moment. I can feel it."
She nodded, slipping off her heels. "I'm glad. You deserve it."
Her phone buzzed again. She looked at the screen, then turned to grab her clutch.
"Where you off to?" Mandla asked, sitting up. "We should celebrate. Order in? I’ll open that expensive bottle you keep hiding."
Zanele smoothed the front of her jumpsuit. "A client called. Last minute. It’s sensitive, and I’ve got a good feeling about it. Could be big."
Mandla frowned. "Now?"
She kissed him lightly on the forehead. "You know how these things go. If I don’t take the meeting, someone else will."
And with that, she walked out.
---
The restaurant was tucked beneath a private rooftop garden in Rosebank—elegant, candlelit, and guarded by soft jazz. Zanele stepped out of her black coupe, stilettos tapping against polished stone as the valet rushed to meet her.
She didn’t dress for war. She dressed for memory.
Her silk black jumpsuit hugged her curves, and her hair was swept into a high bun—the way Thami used to like it when they were both young, hungry, and convinced ambition alone could make them invincible.
A hostess led her to a private table in the corner. He was already there, of course. Thami Dlamini never waited. He made others wait.
He stood as she approached, tall and sharp in a navy blazer, no tie, just that air of dangerous ease that had once made her knees weak.
“Zanele,” he said, his voice still slow like poured syrup.
She sat without offering a hand. “T.”
He smiled, unbothered. “You look like you came to collect what’s yours.”
“I did.”
A beat passed. He motioned to the waiter. “Still like Cabernet, or have your tastes changed with your tax bracket?”
She raised a brow. “Still Cabernet. Still sharper than you remember.”
The wine came. So did the quiet.
Finally, she asked, “How long have you known?”
Thami swirled his glass. “Long enough to watch it unfold. Not long enough to stop it without tipping my hand.”
Zanele leaned forward. “And why would you care? We haven’t spoken since my wedding.”
Thami looked her in the eye. “Because I knew who built that firm. And I knew who would come for it once the crown settled. Mandla’s predictable.”
“Kay isn’t.”
Thami chuckled. “No, she’s slippery. But she’s also sloppy. They left a trail.”
He slid a flash drive across the table. “Transaction records. Voice memos. One phone call they forgot to delete from Kay’s company line.”
Zanele didn’t touch it yet. “Why help me?”
He smirked. “Maybe I like justice. Maybe I owe you. Maybe I just want a front-row seat when you burn the whole thing down.”
“And the dinner?”
He leaned in. “I missed watching you work.”
She finally picked up the flash drive. Slipped it into her clutch like a chess piece moved with care.
“Then keep watching,” she said. “I’m just getting started.”
---
Back in her apartment, she locked the door, kicked off her heels, and opened her laptop.
Within minutes, she was immersed. The audio file was clear. Kay and Mandla. Discussing shares, silencing board members, and laughing.
Zanele hit pause, breathing slowly through her nose.
She emailed the files to Sipho with the subject: "Level Two. Eyes Only."
Then she opened a new document.
Emergency Shareholders Meeting Proposal
Her next move was bold. And it would be loud.
But Zanele Moyo had spent years making men look powerful. Now she was going to show them what power actually looked like.
And this time, she wasn’t sharing the throne.
- Writer
